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At the front sat Serra, alone on a wooden chair.
Her council panicked. “We have three hundred soldiers against his three thousand! We should flee to the mountains.” el poder frente a la fuerza
“Then what?”
One autumn, the river failed entirely. The north’s wells went dry. Vultur saw only one solution: invade the south, seize its springs, and enslave its people. “Power is a blade,” he declared. “It takes what it needs.” At the front sat Serra, alone on a wooden chair
“Shoot,” Serra whispered to the wind. “And every branch will become a root. Every drop of blood will become a song. You will win this morning, Vultur, but you will lose every dawn after. Because power kills bodies. Strength plants gardens.” We should flee to the mountains
Serra did not move. “You have the power to kill us all,” she said calmly. “But you do not have the strength to make us hate you.”